


Hogwarts sucks - a tale by Derek Hale

by bengsi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen, elvendork 'stiles' stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:02:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bengsi/pseuds/bengsi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a.k.a. The Adventures of Sourwolf and Elvendork</p><p>Derek Hale is probably the only one who could hate Hogwarts. And everyone there seems to hate him as well. </p><p>Until it's Elvendork Stilinski's turn to get sorted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hogwarts Sucks - a Tale by Derek Hale

**Author's Note:**

> For those who didn't know, Elvendork is a canon name, used in a short 800-word prequel with James and Sirius. "And remember, Elvendork! It's unisex!" You should totally google and read it.

Derek Hale hated a lot of things. Full moons, for example. And big sisters. And werewolf hunters. Especially werewolf hunters who decided they had the right to kill entire families, simply because they all suffered from lycanthropy.

But even more, Derek Hale hated being 16 years old and still being forced to go to school.

It wasn’t as if he was going to get a job anyway. Sure, the laws had been improved, and technically, it was no longer legal to discriminate based on blood status or magical illnesses. Still, the other students seemed to prefer cramming together at the other end of the long table, rather than sitting next to him, giving Derek extra long leg and claw and fang space. Even the Ravenclaws behind him avoided to sit too close, leaving a big gap on the bench.

As the doors to the Great Hall opened, the whispers inside intensified. Derek didn’t get the big deal, since he didn’t expect this sorting to be any different to the ones he’d seen the previous five years – the hat would sing some stupid song about peace and love and understanding, and then continue to sort the kids into different houses, where everything evolved around hating whoever wasn’t in that house. Or, in Derek’s case, hating everyone in that house as well.

Professor Filch (who was shorter than almost all the eleven-year-olds he’d escorted through the hall) cleared his throat and started reading from a list of names. Derek crossed his arms and stared at his empty plate. He was bored already.

”Argent, Allison.”

Derek flinched. Argent was a pure-blood name. It also was the name of an ancient werewolf hunter family (a business that was illegal, but not unheard of). It _also_ happened to be the name of the family that had hunted _his_ family down. Even though he didn’t want to, he couldn’t stop himself from looking at the girl. With brown wavy hair, thick eyebrows and a square jaw, she didn’t look much like the relative that had been sent to Azkaban. But she did have a decisive look over her pierced lips, as the hat sat on top of her head, seemingly having a hard time knowing where to put her. Derek twisted his wand in his hand, not knowing whether he wanted to slit her throat, or run out of the Great Hall and out of the castle and never come back.

“Gryffindor,” the hat finally shouted out, and Derek (and every other person in the room) looked as the girl walked over to the table next to his. Having his back towards her table, he suddenly wished he’d chosen the bench facing the other way, because this way, he felt trapped. Luckily, she was seated close to the teachers’ table at the other end, and he could almost see her at all times in the corner of his eye.

Gryffindor. So she was the rash and stupid kind of person, then. Or ‘brave’, as all the Gryffindors themselves called it. ‘Brave’. There’s nothing brave about using fiendfyre to burn a house to the ground, with almost all its inhabitants still in it.

“Boyd, Vernon,” Professor Flitwick called out, but Derek was barely listening.

Logically, he knew he shouldn’t do anything. Logically, he knew that this girl was only eleven years old, and had nothing to do with killing his family. Logically, he should do his best to ignore her, and just focus on his seventeenth birthday a few months away, when he could leave this school and never, ever look back. But if he’d been logical, he’d been placed in Ravenclaw.

Apparently the Boyd kid was placed in Hufflepuff, which resulted in him coming to Derek’s table. Not that it mattered – there was still plenty of room for no one having to sit near him.

(And yes, Derek realized the irony of being a werewolf and at the same time a Hufflepuff, the least intimidating house of all. He really hadn’t had much luck in life.)

During the sorting, Derek thought a lot of thoughts he was glad no one else could hear – thoughts involving every hex and curse and dark spell he’d ever been heard of, and whether a lifetime in Azkaban would be worth it. Seeing as his only other future was a lifetime with Laura, he was leaning towards a ‘yes’. And if Dementors ate happy memories, they wouldn’t get a lot of those from him anyway.

But of course he wouldn’t actually do anything. He was, after all, a Hufflepuff – the leftovers, rather than smart or brave or cunning.

They’d reached L now, with Lahey, Isaac, who pretty quickly was placed in Gryffindor, even though he had a scared look on his face.

And then it was Mahealani, Daniel, who was sorted into Hufflepuff  as soon as the hat touched his black hair. The kid, who looked older than eleven, walked down the hall, and sat down next to Derek. Without him noticing, a lot of kids had been sorted into his house, and there wasn’t much extra room left.

“Hi, I’m Danny,” the kid said, smiling to Derek and the rest of the students around him, while Martin, Lydia was sorted into Ravenclaw. Derek gave him a look without returning the greeting, and as he scuffled away a bit, he heard a ginger boy whisper: “Don’t even bother – he’s a _werewolf.”_

“I still don’t think McGonagall should let people like him go here, no matter what the Ministry says. They _know_ he’s dangerous – why would he have gotten his own room if he wasn’t?” someone else said in a low tone of voice, probably too stupid to realize that with lycanthropy came excellent hearing. Derek glared at him, effectively shutting him up – he didn’t even tell him that the reason he’d gotten his room was because when he first got here, his so-called class mates had rather slept in the common room than in the same room as him.

He honestly thought about leaving, but he was extremely hungry (with Laura unemployed and him in school, they didn’t really have an abundance of food around at their still smoke-smelling but mostly restored home).

After Reyes, Erica had been sorted into Slytherin, Professor Flitwick called out a name that made all of the students laugh (and even some of the staff members had to hide smiles).

“Stilinski, Elvendork.”

“Stiles.It’s _Stiles,”_ a squeaky voice insisted, with the tone of someone who knew that absolutely _no one_ would ever call him anything but Elvendork.

“Elvendork is the name of many successful wizards and witches,” the Sorting Hat said as it was put on the  boy’s buzz cut head, but even the old headgear looked amused.

“Well, I think it must be … Gryffindor!” the hat shouted out after a few seconds, and the table to the right started cheering loudly. As Elvendork Stilinski made his way down the hall, people wolf-whistled, and Derek felt strange – he realized that the feeling resembled hope. Maybe, just maybe, there would be someone else who’d be the center of attention for a change, rather than him.

The kid sat down behind Derek, and his hopes grew with every minute, because Elvendork was loud and about as smooth as barbed wire.

“It’s probably a typo. My real name is … Elvendale. No. Elvis. Elvira – that’s NOT a girl’s name.” Elvendork sighed. “Look. Just call me Stiles, okay? All my friends do it. Well, that is – one friend and my dad. But if I had more friends, they totally would!”

“If you say so, Elvendork,” someone at the Gryffindor table said with a laugh.

There was only one more first year left to be sorted, and Derek couldn’t wait for the food to arrive. Jackson Whittemore was sorted into Slytherin, and then, fucking finally, the food appeared on the table. Derek grabbed whatever meat he could get, and didn’t care that his lack of manners got him looks.

“He’s a WHAT?” someone shouted out behind him, and Derek closed his eyes. He knew that sort of outburst, and also knew what mostly followed – shouting and panicking and spells being fired.

Which meant that he wasn’t exactly prepared for someone intensely tapping on his shoulder.

Derek let the meat fall to the plate, and slowly turned around while wiping the meat sauces away from his mouth with the back of his hand. He was hoping that the mere look of his less-than-happy face would scare the intruder off, but instead he was met by a pair of really round, brown eyes, inches from his own face.

“Is it true?” Elvendork asked, so close Derek could smell his breath. Apparently, he’d given the kidney pudding a go. “You’re a _werewolf?”_

Derek shoved him away, almost making the kid fall to the floor. “Yes,” he answered and turned back around to finish his food.

Apparently, this was one particularly stupid kid, because seconds later he forced the Hufflepuffs to make some room, squeezing himself into the seat next to Derek.

“That is SO COOL,” the eleven-year-old said with a stupid grin over his face.

“What’s _wrong_ with you?” Derek asked. “Besides the fact that you’re named Elvendork, of course.”

“It’s _Stiles,”_ the kid repeated. “So, you turn into a wolf every full moon? Do you howl? Can you control it? Are you allowed in the Forbidden Forest? Is that where you go? Can I see you transform sometime?”

Derek stared at him. “Honestly. What _the fuck_ is wrong with you?” He shook his head. “Look, whoever put you up to this, know that you better stay out of my way.”

“Or what?” the kid said with a manic smile. He was obviously mentally disturbed and belonged at St. Mungos.

“Well, since officially threatening you could get me expelled, you’ll just have to use your imagination.” Derek got up, having lost his appetite.

“So cool,” Elvendork repeated. “See ya later!” he called after Derek as he left.

Fucking hell, Derek thought to himself, making his way to his room in the Hufflepuff basement. He’d have to make sure that kid never got close to him again.

(He had no idea that a few hours later, he’d be woken up by that same kid stumbling in to his room, simultaneously knocking over his trunk, ripping down the bed curtains and setting off the security hex that Derek had put up, claiming to “have gotten lost while looking for the Gryffindor bathroom”. Nor that the security hex had a constructional flaw which made it impossible for anyone to escape to room, forcing Derek to spend the night with Elvendork. And the next three days, since that was how long it took before anyone figured that maybe they should check on whether Derek was still alive. This while the staff searched through the entire school and its grounds for the little Gryffindor brat, thinking he’d been eaten by the Giant Squid.

And yes, by then Derek knew he wouldn’t be rid of Stiles until he graduated Hogwarts. Probably not even then. And it didn’t make him entirely pissed off.)


	2. The Adventures of Sourwolf and Elvendork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elvendork breaks into Derek's room, and accidentally activates the security hex, effectively trapping them both in there.
> 
> ...
> 
> “I … I was looking for the toilet. I swear!”
> 
> “You don’t have toilets in the Gryffindor tower, huh?” Derek lifted Elvendork a bit higher.
> 
> “I got lost, honestly!” the kid said in a restrained voice. Realizing that choking a first-year to death probably wasn’t the best idea, Derek let him go. Okay, so maybe he should’ve lowered him down before doing that, but the kid had broken into his room, hadn’t he? There had to be consequences.

Derek had never been a heavy sleeper (which might have something to do with spending the majority of the year around people who’d be more than happy to have him thrown to the dementors), but ever since the fire, he was lucky if he got more than four hours of sleep a night. Still, tonight he’d been dozing off, and when he heard a muffled bang, he disregarded it as yet another nightmare.

But when a second bang was heard right outside his door, the adrenaline kicked in. As the door swung open, Derek got to his feet, wide awake and with his wand pointed at the intruder. The intruder, whose face was covered by a red hoodie, seemed surprised that the door had given in so easily.

“Hnngf,” the figure said as he stumbled inside, unable to stop himself.

“Stupefy!” Derek called out, but missed as the other person tripped on the trunk a few feet in front of the entrance, purposely put there to surprise unwelcome visitors. Derek was glad to see it had worked – most of his plans didn’t.

As the trunk was knocked over and the intruder along with it, the figure desperately grabbed for something to hold on to; the closest thing at hand happened to be the black-and-yellow bed curtains. There was a ripping sound as the curtains were torn from the roof-attached rail, and then came a small ‘sorry’ from beneath the pile of fabric.

Unfortunately, Derek recognized that voice. “Elvendork?” he said.

“It’s _Stiles_ ,” the pile of fabric insisted.

“What the fuck are you doing in my room, Elvendork?”

“…”

“Tell me, or I’ll curse your entire bloodline.”

“You can _do_ that?” Elvendork said in a voice of aw.

Derek rummaged through the curtains and got a hold of the kid’s pajama shirt, lifting him up several feet off the ground. This time, the look in Derek’s eyes seemed to convey the message.

“I … I was looking for the toilet. I swear!”

“You don’t have toilets in the Gryffindor tower, huh?” Derek lifted Elvendork a bit higher.

“I got lost, honestly!” the kid said in a restrained voice. Realizing that choking a first-year to death probably wasn’t the best idea, Derek let him go. Okay, so _maybe_ he should’ve lowered him down before doing that, but the kid had broken into _his_ room, hadn’t he? There had to be consequences.

“Listen, brat, I don’t care what sort of hazing the Gryffindors are putting you through, but if you come near me again, I swear you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”

“Yes, sorry, okay,” Elvendork said as he got himself off the floor. “I’m really sorry, it’s just, I’ve never seen a werewolf, and I thought, maybe I could watch you when you sleep, ‘cause then you wouldn’t know …”

Derek furrowed his brows. “That’s fucking creepy.”

“Yeah, I know. Did I say I was sorry? ‘Cause I am. Sorry. You know what? I broke … I mean, another Gryffindor broke a plate in the Great Hall, and I saw a prefect fix it …” Elvendork picked up the curtain off the floor. “I think I remember the spell.”

“Don’t…” Derek started, but it was too late.

“Repare-do!” Elvendork said, frantically waving his wand (almost pointing out an eye in the process), and instantly there were angry, red sparkles shooting out of it. Derek leaped backwards, expecting some sort of explosion, and …

… nothing.

“Huh,” Elvendork said. “I guess I used it wrong.”

“Guess so.”

“I haven’t really used magic before, my dad’s not a wizard. I don’t think my mom was either – a witch, I mean, of course she wasn’t a wizard …” He trailed off as he saw the increasingly annoyed look on Derek’s face. He picked up a picture frame from the nightstand next to Derek’s bed. “Or maybe there are women who are wizards and men who are witches, I don’t know, but that’s fine, I mean, that’s cool. Like, maybe these are your sisters,” he said, pointing at the photo, “or maybe you call them brothers and that’s why you’re looking so pissed off right now because I offended them, but you know, I’d never judge … Hey, look, they move. Cool.”

Derek crossed his arms, trying to keep himself from using an unforgivable curse. “Leave. Now.”

“Yes. Leave. Course. Again, so sorry. They look really nice,” he said with a nod towards Derek’s family picture, and gently, he put it back down again.

With a loud boom, the door shut close, and both Derek and Elvendork were struck to the ground by an invisible force-field.

“Fuck,” Derek mumbled, his face pressed against the floor.

“Did I do that?” Elvendork asked at the same time. _“Awesome!”_

“No. That would be the security hex.” Derek took a deep breath, then said, “ _Finite_.”

“… it activated because I put the photo down? But not when I broke in and nearly destroyed the place?”

Derek got up on his feet. “So it would seem.”

“You should work on that.”

“Thanks for the input. Now get. The fuck. Out.” Derek lifted Elvendork once again, and this time he honestly didn’t care whether he strangled him or not. He carried him to the door and turned the handle … the door was locked shut.

“Oh, let me!” Elvendork squeaked and reached for his wand. “Aloha, moron!” he said, waving his wand.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself,” Derek muttered under his breath. “Do you honestly think my defense’s so weak a simple _alohomora_ could break it open?”

“… so what is it then?”

Derek sighed. He’d have to come up with an even stronger defense after this – there was no way he’d keep something that was known to Elvendork. _“Alohomora Duo,”_ he said, teeth clenched. He reached for the handle again.

Still nothing.

“… is that supposed to happen?”

“Yes, of _course_ it is. Every single little detail of this night has gone exactly according to plan. What do you _think_ , dork face?”

“That’s not very nice.”

Derek shoved the kid into the wall. “ _I’m_ not very nice. I’m a werewolf, remember? And right now I’m a pissed off werewolf, under-fucking-stand?”

“You know, bad language isn’t gonna fix anything.” The kid smiled nervously.

Derek pressed the tip of his wand against the kid’s neck, his hand trembling. _Dead bodies are bad,_ he had to remind himself. “Just … shut up, okay?” he said, shaking his head. _“Alohomora Duo,”_ he tried again at the door. Still nothing.

_“Portaberto!”_ he said instead. A splinter came off, but it left no keyhole, and otherwise the door was unharmed. _“Portaberto,”_ he repeated. A few more splinters, but still no luck.

He tried the last of the unlocking charms that he knew of – one that would rip the door from its hinges and tore it into firewood. Sure, it’d be hard to explain to the professors, but he had no other choice.

_“Open Sesame!”_

There was a loud boom that made them stumble backwards, and so much smoke it was hard to breath – but the door still stood.

“Open Sesame? That’s a real spell?” Elvendork asked. “That’s so …”

“I don’t want to hear how _cool_ you think that is, you hear me? _Not. A. Word.”_ He shoved the kid away, rolling up his sleeves. He didn’t care if he’d take the entire Hufflepuff common room down with him, he was getting that door open.

_“Expulso! Confringo! Reducto!”_ He waved his wand like a whip, and after each curse, there was a separate crash, each loud enough to wake every student in the house. Derek’s ears were ringing by the end of it, and the last one even left a black dent several inches deep in the wood. But otherwise, the door was unharmed _and_ _still locked._

“Um. Are we … stuck?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Yeah, you totally seem to know what you’re doing.”

Derek turned around to face him. “You know what? I _do_ know what I’m doing. I’m getting rid of you.” He started pushing him towards the basement window on the other side of the room.

“… I’m not going to fit through there,” Elvendork protested.

“Yes, you are. And if you don’t, I guess I’ll just have to shrink you to the right size.”

“Oh, _come on,_ that’s not fair! I’m already one of the smallest students here!”

“And yet, you’re the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.”

Unfortunately, the window glass wouldn’t budge an inch, even after Derek tried all the spells he knew, and some he just made up combining every foul-sounding word he knew. There were a lot of them.

“Seems that security thingy’s pretty powerful after all, huh?” Elvendork said with a frail smile. “So that’s good, at least.”

“There is _nothing_ good about this.”

“Well, I can name a few things – you’re stuck with me and not some lycanphobic, ‘cause you know, that’d be awkward; it’s not a full moon tonight, which is also good; we’re inside in an obviously very safe environment so we’ll be able to sleep without worries. Honestly, I think you need to be a bit more optimistic instead of such a sour-wolf.”

Derek clasped his wand tightly. _“What_ did you just call me?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

“If you keep calling me Elvendork, you can’t expect me to not come up with nicknames of my own, can you?”

“Wanna bet?” Derek hissed, raising his wand.

“Oh, come on, if you were really going to hurt me, you’d have done it by now,” Elvendork said.

Derek smashed his head into the wall.

_“Aooow._ That hurt.”

“Good.”

“Look, we’re obviously stuck in here with each other, so let’s just make the best out of it, okay? Which side of the bed do you want?”

“All sides. You can sleep on the floor, if that’s what you want. And I’m not giving up – I designed the hex, I’ll be able to undo it.”

“Aha. And while you do that, I’ll take the right side of the bed – that’s the one I sleep on at home, it was my mom’s.” Elvendork sat down on the bed. “Not that I sleep in my parents’ room.”

“… your mom left your dad?” Derek asked, lowering his wand. _Pleeeease, let his mom have left and not anything else._

“… she died. Two years ago.” The kid looked away. “I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Oh.” Derek sat down on the other side of the bed. His eyes burnt a little, but he tried to tell himself it was only because of all the smoke in there. “Sorry.”

“I only sleep in there in case dad gets nightmares, you know?” he said in a low tone of voice. “I don’t want him to be alone.”

“Yeah, of course.” Derek looked away. He thought of his own nightmares, and of how the nights when he didn’t have any, he’d be woken by Laura’s screams instead. He’d never gone into her room.

“… which I guess he is now,” the kid continued. “But I’ve asked Scott and his mom to look after him – Scott’s my best friend. He’d love it here. Maybe he’ll come next year – he hasn’t turned eleven yet. I already wrote him a letter about the singing hat, and the portrait to the Gryffindor common room, and you, and Quidditch. He really likes sports, but he’s got asthma, so I guess Quidditch would be really good for him – you know, not having to run.” Elvendork turned quiet.

Derek thought about telling him that he knew what it was like, worrying about your relatives, wishing for your mom to come back, to hear her voice one more time, telling you that you were loved, that everything was going to be alright. But he didn’t.

“What about your friends?” Elvendork asked.

“Um. I don’t really have any.”

The kid tucked his feet under his legs. “But you must have someone. Hufflepuffs are nice, aren’t they?”

Derek didn’t answer the second question. “I’ve got Laura, I guess. She’s my sister.”

“Well, I guess that’s what you get when you smash people’s heads into walls. It still hurts, by the way,” he said, rubbing his head. “What about the other ones in the photo?”

Derek swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. It didn’t work. “Um. They’re dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you okay? Of course you’re not. How’d it happen? I mean, I get it if you don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

He desperately tried to blink away the tears. Stupid smoke. “I think we should sleep now,” he said in a hoarse voice. “The professors will probably look for us tomorrow, and they’ll help us out.”

“Yeah, sure.” Elvendork nodded. “And I’ll totally sleep on the floor, if that’s what you want. I’ll take the curtain, if that’s okay?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Derek muttered. _“Engorgio,”_ he said, and the bed grew big enough for four people to sleep on it.

The kid fell asleep within minutes, which was freaking remarkable, but Derek stayed awake. The tears filled his eyes, and he didn’t even try to blame it on the smoke anymore. God, the only reason he’d even remotely looked forward to coming here this term was to forget, and here this kid comes, ripping out all the memories, all the pain … and he couldn’t even be alone in his room to cry in peace.

Derek had been lying on his side, facing the wall, as to not be seen, but after a while he rolled over on his back, only to see that despite all the extra room, the kid was sprawled out across the middle of the bed. Derek closed his eyes, trying to forget his presence, trying to think of something, anything else but death and sadness and the annoying fact that the only one who’d asked him how he felt, besides all the teachers that’d felt obliged to do so, was a stupid eleven-year-old he hadn’t known for even a day.

A small hand crept into his, squeezing his palm. Derek didn’t dare to move, even though his first instinct was to kick the kid away. He was probably dreaming, thinking it was his dad next to him. Derek thought about Cora. She’d have been around Stiles’ age by now, coming to Hogwarts, being in Gryffindor for sure. He thought about Peter, who’d been more of a brother than an uncle to him, who was stuck in St Mungo’s with no hope of ever getting out. He thought about his dad, who’d read him and Cora the stories of Beedle the Bard, about The Fountain of Fair Fortune, The Friendly Little Werewolf and the Wicked Warlock, and The Tale of the Three Brothers, every night until Derek was off to Hogwarts. He thought about his mom, who’d sacrificed herself to get all of them out of the burning building, and gone after that woman, even though she had fiendfyre in her hair and on her clothes, until it consumed her.

And he thought about Laura, who’d have to become the adult who took care of Derek and whatever was left of Peter, and used all the magic she knew to get the house back together as well as she could. And how the last thing Derek had screamed at her before going back earlier that morning, was that he’d wished she’d died instead of the others.

Derek tried to free his hand. He didn’t deserve this kid’s affection. He didn’t deserve anything – he was friendless and homeless and family-less for a reason. After all, it had been his fault Kate had even known where their home was in the first place … he’d never told anyone about that, and he never would, either.

But Stiles wouldn’t let go off his hand, no matter how hard Derek tried. _Stupid eleven-year-old with a stupid name and stupidly strong fingers. Stupid kid who’s not afraid of me. Stupid kid who’s also lost his mom. Stupid, freaking Elvendork. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

He fell asleep like that. And when Derek had that same old nightmare a few hours later, somehow Stiles was in it, breaking everything, talking too much at the faceless monsters, making Derek annoyed and irritated rather than paralyzed and terrified.

When they woke up the next morning, Derek did so without the feeling of wanting to kill everything. Now, he only wanted to kill certain things.

(Of course, that was before he knew he’d be spending three more days in that room, locked up with Elvendork Stilinski. By that time, he was back at wanting to kill everything again. But in a slightly happier way, you know?)

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek hates mornings and everything pumpkin-flavoured.

Derek had a weird sensation around the area of his chest. It was … warm. And cozy. Like Christmas morning. Not the kind he’d had last year, with a dodgy present that he was pretty sure came straight from a dumpster and a sister who could barely hide her tears. The real kind—that feeling you have as you are between sleep and awakening, knowing there are presents waiting for you under the tree, a stove and oven filled with so much food it’ll last for weeks, and a family just waiting to hug you the second they see you. Derek barely had time to recognize the feeling before it was slipping away, replaced by the usual dread of a new day.

“So, what’s for breakfast?”

“My face in your fist.” Derek forced his eyes open as he remembered what had happened last night. It was too early for this. As his eyes glanced over the half-wrecked room, he realized it wouldn’t have made a difference whenever he’d woken up—there wasn’t exactly an ideal time of the day to remember that everything you ever did was meant to fail horribly and to prove it, you were trapped inside your demolished room with what might be the most annoying person to ever exist ever.

“Pretty sure you meant to say ‘my fist in your—’”

“Shut the fuck up.” Derek hauled his body up and leaned against the headboard. Glancing at his watch, he realized it was only 6.40 in the morning, but yet, there that kid was, seemingly ready to face the day.

Ugh. Derek hated morning people. Well, Derek hated all people, but morning people were on top of the list.

“Why are you up already?” he growled. “The professors won’t be missing us for at least another hour and a half.”

Stiles’ rumbling stomach answered the question for him. “My dad always gets up early for work,” he said. “So, do you have anything edible in here?” He was sitting at the end of the bed, skinny legs crossed and red hood up, pulling at the strings so that his face was barely showing.

If he hadn’t been so tired, Derek would’ve come up with a snarky remark about a 70-pound-kid being a perfect snack for a werewolf, but he had a feeling that he’d mess that up too.

“There should be some pumpkin pasties in the trunk,” he said instead, bobbing his head towards the big piece of furniture in front of the door. Laura had packed them, even though she knew perfectly well that Derek hated anything pumpkin-flavored. Not that he’d ever said it in so many words, but you’d think that the growls and frowns would be enough.

Stiles skipped off the bed only to half-stumble on the torn-down curtains, and he tried to not-so-smoothly cover it up by getting on his knees in front of the trunk.

He threw away Derek’s parchment and quills and the itchy woolen sweater Laura had found at a flea market, along with the few other personal items Derek owned.

“Aha!” Stiles said, finally finding a few pasties at the bottom of the trunk. They were crumbling at his touch, but he looked like he’d found gold. He threw one of them at Derek, who flinched, but still managed to capture it. Being a werewolf had some perks.

“I don’t want it,” he said, throwing it back at the kid, who’d stuffed his face with a pasty of his own.

“You gogga ee,” Stiles answered, crumbs flying everywhere.

“I’m fine,” he said, pulling the covers over his head, only to have his feet exposed to the cold, cruel air. He’d engorge the linens had it not been for the fact that his wand was several feet away from the bed, which meant that he’d have to get up completely. He settled for covering his feet at the moment.

Stiles swallowed loudly. “Ri’ you ah’,” he said, clearing pasty from his teeth with his tongue. “You’re basically the poster wolf for hanger.” Putting a finger into the mouth as well, he tried to reach a particularly stubborn piece of pasty, and dug around, pulled his finger out of his mouth with the goo stuck on it, looked at it, only to put it back inside his mouth.

Derek glared at him, not entirely sure what the kid’d just said, but pretty sure it was something insulting. “You’re disgusting,” he retorted.

Stiles shrugged. “Well, I try.” He glanced at the rejected pasty at the end of the bed. “You sure you don’t want that?”

“Yes.”

“Positive?”

“Yes.”

“One hun—”

“Is the concept of yes too hard for you?” Derek interrupted. “Just take the god damn pasty!”

“See, this is why I think you should eat it. I don’t want your low blood sugar to be the cause of my death.”

“I’m. Fine.”

Derek stared at Stiles. Stiles stared back at him, one eyebrow raised. Derek frowned, knowing he’d win this stare down—if there was one thing he was good at, it was staring. He’d had his fair share of practice, and you learn to say a lot with your features when you don’t really wish to say anything or have anyone say anything to you at all.

Derek was momentarily interrupted by a familiar gush in his guts. Oh, no. Not now. If there was a god or any higher deity, please, don’t let him be proven wrong by an eleven-year-old. He’d do _anything_ to—

His stomach growled loudly.

“Ha!” Stiles said, pointing excitedly. “There, you _are_ hungry. Now you have to eat it.”

Derek crossed his arms. “I so don’t.”

“Would you rather put my life at risk?”

“I’m considering it.”

Stiles paused to look at him, looking slightly worried, before he started laughing. “Right.” He picked up the pasty and tossed it at Derek. “Have some breakfast and then we’ll figure out a way to get out of here.”

Derek picked up the heinous little pastry and put it to his lips, keeping a glare on his face while he contemplated whether this day could get _any_ worse.

And of course it could.

 


End file.
